Down To The River
by Burkion
Summary: Cinder Fall is one of the top assassins working for the Salem crime syndicate. She is nothing if not a proud woman, especially in herself. She allows herself one indulgence, watching a musician by the name of Jaune Arc from afar. Content with this life of blood and dreams, she receives a rude awakening. Pride, they say, goes before the Fall.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

 **AN:** Hey there folks, Burkion! For more about what this story is going to be, check after the first chapter. Now, onto the show.

Being ambidextrous was one of the most useful skills that an assassin could have, Cinder Fall mused. Few were born with this rare talent, she certainly hadn't been, but it was a very useful skill to learn. She had just started opening fire on her current target when an unfortunate variable had made himself known. A variable taken into account, as Cinder was born no fool.

The bullets from her primary gun in her right hand tore into the young Neon Katt, a pro athlete that had decided to snub the wrong person. Her left hand had already closed around her secondary gun, a different make and model with a different set of ammunition, as the door began to open. Neon Katt's musically inclined partner, Flynt Coal, was apparently coming into the room to ask his significant other some question or other.

Whatever it had been didn't matter any longer as one bullet tore into his shoulder and one carved a groove across his skull. Cinder clicked her tongue in disappointment, knowing that her left hand wasn't quite as strong as her right. Neon Katt she had taken by surprise, slipping into the room from a side window and had died instantly. Flynt, on the other hand, was still suffering on the ground with only two of the five shots finding their mark.

Only she misjudged just how serious a head injury he had received, Flynt surging up. He swung at her wildly, remaining arm flailing. Cinder sidestepped the blow, a lamp exploding into a thousand pieces. A smile crossed her features, Flynt's eyes wide with fear and confusion. He thought he could fight his way out of this, how cute.

With a quick, aimed, shot to the head he was put out of his misery. No witnesses, no fuss, no worries. She doubted that he had any idea of what hit him, not that it would have mattered anyway. Cinder was pleased that she had the foresight to equip both of her pistols with silencers, which while it did not completely mute the sound of a gun, did help mask it. Checking the weight of her pistols she knew she would have to reload them as soon as she could safely eject their magazines. She stalled for a moment to empty two more rounds into Flynt's back, his body spasming in turn. Always make sure.

Cinder took stock of herself, ensuring that no blood splatter had gotten onto her black leather jacket or pants, and quickly got to work collecting the shells from her guns. Leave as little evidence as possible. She exited the way she had entered, emerging into a fire escape outside. A change of clothes would be waiting for her below, a few blocks back. She had an appointment to keep after all.

All in all, as she quickly made her way across the alley, she was quite pleased with how the encounter turned out. Whoever had ordered the hit on Miss Neon had specifically asked for her to be shot in her 'big fat mouth', which Cinder had gladly complied with. Flynt was an unfortunate bystander, as she had expected him to be at one of his performances, but it was of little consequence. One more body didn't change anything.

She arrived at her alcove, quickly grabbing up her duffle bag. She changed out her boots, pants, shirt and jacket for a much more appropriate wear. After all, though Miss Neon may not have any more appointments, Cinder Fall most certainly did. One she wouldn't miss for the world. Slipping into something a bit more flattering, though much chillier, Cinder flared her hair out just a tad. With a smile, she hid her duffle bag back in the alcove and made her way to her destination.

Cinder Fall had walked these streets many times before. This city was familiar to her, and with that came some small comfort. Every alley, every alcove, any and all of the nooks and crannies, all were burned to her memory. Turn your head one direction, three ways to escape present themselves. Turn the other, five more await. Brushing her perfectly maintained black hair back over her shoulder, she took a moment to praise herself for having such a clear mental roadmap. Such a thing was quite important in her line of work.

The air was humid, the atmosphere heavy. It would be raining soon, an annoyance but not something that couldn't be overcome. Her strapless black satin dress would survive just fine. The cracked stonework of the path she walked gave way to much nicer paved flooring, as she crossed out of the underbelly of the city. Emerging into the more outwardly reputable portion, she allowed a smile to grace her features. The building ahead was not much different than those that surrounded, cleaner certainly.

It was a nightclub, though of a considerably less rowdy persuasion than the mess of a brothel that Junior ran. Above the door was a neon sign, spelling out in bright green and shocking pink 'The Mockingbird'. The two men at the entrance were not officially bouncers, because of course such a place would require nothing of the sort. Her golden eyes passed over the two men, nondescript yet with a heavy presence.

A presence that all but melted in her wake, Cinder stepping past them without slowing even a touch. Step after step, Cinder made sure her heels were heard. The two men, guardians you could call them, could recognize the type of clientele that frequented the Mockingbird from half a mile away. They had to, or else much more than their jobs would be on the line.

The Mockingbird had a heady atmosphere to it, a haze of cigar smoke filling the air. Cinder was not one to be put off by a little smoke, and had frequented the club diligently for the past five years. Long ago had she gotten used to the atmosphere of the place. The quiet noise of its patrons as they nursed whatever poison they had ordered, the smell of ashes in the air. This too was of some comfort for Cinder.

An unneeded comfort, but some none the less. Her spot was empty, as it always had been. Cinder could scarcely remember when she had first stepped foot into this place, if someone had been sitting at her table. If they had, they learned their lesson. Without having to say a word, her drink was waiting for her, little more than two minutes old. Cinder smiled to herself. She did like to stay punctual.

Easing into her booth, she looked at the waiting staff. The newer members flitted about, here and there, but none dared to approach her table. Instead, at the ready, was the young woman Velvet. More of a rodent than a woman, she at least knew Cinder's temperaments and peculiarities. Which was just fine by Cinder. Having to speak with the staff was always such a chore.

Every week for the last five years she had come to this establishment, to this table, to this booth. She drank the same order, a glass of fireball, and would typically end up having no more than three. Too much whiskey, even masked as it was, didn't settle well. Never was she worried about being drunk as Cinder could not recall a time her judgement had been impaired. The atmosphere of the place, the reliable wait staff, even the frankly delicious alcohol were not what drew her here.

The lights dimmed as, on schedule, he came onto the stage. Carrying a steel guitar today, Jaune Arc made his appearance. Cinder always timed her arrival around his schedule, ensuring that she would be just finishing her first sip of fireball as he made his way on stage. Outside of his name, which she truthfully only knew due to the odd announcement, she knew nothing about her blue eyed, blonde haired musician.

He was a fair sight for the eye, slim but not scrawny. His usual outfit was some variant of whatever suit was in vogue at the time. Cinder suspected that was more to do with the bartender Coco than any choice of his own. The current owner of the bar was one Tukson Sundown and he had wisely kept it identical to his predecessor, Amber Bailey. Such a shame about what had happened to her.

Of course Cinder tried to make it as painless as possible, using an odorless toxin to knock the woman out before executing her. Never felt a thing, the least Cinder could do for all Amber had given her with this wonderful place. When your name came up on her list, however, it didn't matter who you were or what you did. Cinder felt a swell of pride in her work as she took another sip.

If your name came to Cinder Fall's list, you were not long for this world. That was what a professional was for, after all. Jaune began his set, some newer songs mixed with his old standbys. Jaune was why she frequented this club. At least, it was why she had kept coming. She had originally come to scope out the late Mrs. Bailey, get a handle on her patterns and behaviors. Then young Mr. Arc came on stage and Cinder found herself quite enthralled. Not enough to lose track of her job, but certainly enough to return.

And return she had. She kept her appearances to just once a week, same time, every time. She had killed Amber within the first year and had worried that would disrupt her little getaway. Cinder was quite pleased to find the new ownership kept the lights low and the atmosphere intimate. She couldn't explain, if any had been brave enough to ask, what it was about Jaune Arc that kept her coming back.

She truthfully wasn't stressed in her daily life. Not really. Though her fellow assassin, Tyrian, could be an annoyance, Cinder loved her work. She loved Salem's syndicate, loved the order they brought to the city and those beyond it. Being such an integral part of that machine, that was more than she could have ever asked for in life. Yet, her eyes closing as the music and singing washed over her, she found yet one more thing to ask for.

Cinder Fall was not a woman of pointless gestures or fruitless endeavors. She preferred to keep things pragmatic, simple. Yet here, with his singing, she could allow herself to dream. Dream of some place in the country, free of gunfire and bloodshed. Dream of a modest home, where this music would always play when she needed it most. In the yard would be her two protege, the closest things to children she ever planned to have.

No doubt they would be bickering with one another but that only added to the atmosphere. The atmosphere of a home. Of somewhere peaceful and quiet. She lit a cigar, taking a long drag, letting the smoke fill her lungs. It was only a dream but it was her dream. Her dream, that he gave her. This life could be harsh, unforgiving. She had lost count of the people she had killed, and truthfully who they were as well.

People were transitory, unimportant. But her dream, that was something she could latch onto. An ideal for when she was done with her duty, done with her work. Somewhere she could be content, happy. A warmth filled her as she imagined her musician serenading her, her body sprawled on the couch. No children, at least not in her fantasy. She loved the look of his hair catching the light just so, the sweat that began to build as he put his all into his music. Cinder pondered what he must smell like after a performance.

She finished her glass of fireball but hadn't even needed to motion. The mousy girl, Velvet, was already there replacing the glass with one just as full. Watching the waitress moving quickly, Cinder smirked. With the spring in her step, maybe she was more of a rabbit.

Jaune was some number of songs in when she had finished the second glass. She held a hand up, stopping Velvet dead in her tracks. Velvet quickly nodded, retreating. Jaune's set would be closing soon, meaning Cinder would be leaving just a moment after. She wondered if Jaune had a woman in his life, or perhaps a man? Who knew what lay in his heart. Certainly not Cinder.

For her, it didn't matter so much. He could think what he wanted, desire what he could. What mattered was how she saw him. To her, he was single, lonely. Looking for just the right kind of woman to sweep him off of his feet. To show him some adventure. Someone perhaps a few years his senior, though not so much older. Her Jaune was what she wanted him to be, as she needed him to be it.

He packed his guitar up and left for behind the curtain, as she had watched him do for every week since coming. His gaze briefly went across the room, catching her eye. She raised her now empty glass to him and would have sworn she saw the slightest inclination of his head. Perhaps not, perhaps that was just another dream. That he could acknowledge her, that she could get to know him.

Rising from her booth, Cinder made her way across the hall. None dared to rise before her, and those few milling about quickly moved aside. Cinder paid them no mind. She passed the two men at the door, only now noticing the size discrepancy between them. One was normal, if not a bit skinnier than Jaune even was, and the other was a giant of a man. She realized that she was noticing them for the first time, because for the first time they spoke to her.

"Ma'am." The larger one produced a letter for her.

Cinder raised an eyebrow at this gesture. This was more than unusual. The man kept a stern, stoic face, holding the letter out. The envelope was black, with the red wax seal of Salem. Cinder quirked her eyebrow higher, taking the letter with grace.

This was a kill order. That was not uncommon in her life, but typically they were given to her personally by Salem or one of Watts' staff. It was more than unusual for a messenger to leave such an important document with two people that had nothing to do with the syndicate.

The larger man nodded to her again, Cinder's golden eyes looking at him critically.

"That was the first of two letters. We were instructed to give you the second once the first matter was finished."

Cinder looked towards the smaller man, now taking in that his eyes were clouded. Blind perhaps? He produced a second envelope. Cinder Fall was not a woman that cared to frown. Such an expression could leave unsightly marks on ones face. Yet she could not fight the one that crossed her features as the smaller man pocketed his letter. Cinder nodded curtly, moving with less elegance than before, aggression swiftly taking its place.

This had to have been Watts' doing. The old buzzard was Salem's intelligence coordinator and he had always delighted in trying to derail Cinder's carefully maintained schedule. Acting like such a child. Having her followed, or worse knowing where she moved, was a disconcerting thought though she couldn't quite place why. In theory it shouldn't have mattered, yet her and his mutual animosity had led to many an argument in Salem's meetings.

Yet, this was sealed by Salem herself. At least that's how it appeared to her. Troublesome, troublesome, no matter how you worked it. Watts was many things, but most of all, he was loyal. All members of Salem's higher order had vowed their loyalty and Watts had been serving Salem faithfully since Cinder was a child. He would never forge her seal, and he would never sully her name by pulling a stunt like this.

Sneaking around in such a manner was unthinkable. Meaning Salem had to have authorized, if nothing else, the method of delivery. Something Cinder would have to ask her superior when they met later. She had a progress report to make. Though she had just killed Neon, Cinder was already on her next mission. Cinder often had one or more assignments lined up for her to take on once her current mission was over. Tukson Sundown's name had come from on high a week prior, meaning the Mockingbird would need yet another owner before all was said and done.  
This was something she felt mild disappointment in because Cinder knew how lucky she was the first go around. It felt like Tukson was personally letting her down. Though she did not care about his life, she had a good idea of why his death had been ordered. Keeping her ear to the ground was important, and his personal debt in Roman Torchwick's gambling dens had grown quite extensive.

Torchwick was the man who ran Salem's illegal operations. Brothels, drug trade, arms dealing, gambling, Roman was a man of many talents and many fields. Roman's own associate, a killer for hire known as Neo, could have taken the job if Tukson had crossed him. Only, the person who put the hit out was not related to Roman at all. Cinder wasn't aware of who placed the order, only that they had paid top dollar for it. She had a system with her hits. Scope the target, learn the ins and outs of their daily lives, and then strike when they were at their most vulnerable.

If a particular method of execution was included, usually at an extra fee, she would follow it through to the letter within reason. Tukson was easy, she had already mentally targeted him years ago just on the off chance that he displeased her. So having his name come up, though an annoyance thanks to how it could disrupt her weekday getaway, was truly no problem. No unique kill method was called for him either, so she contemplated how best to handle the situation.

He would be too suspicious of her if she came into his office through any official means, requesting a meeting or otherwise. Not that his suspicion would hinder her at all, but if given a choice she'd rather he not make a fuss. A sniper round to the skull would do the trick, but that had such little enjoyment or flair. Never do a job you don't enjoy.

In no time at all Cinder found herself at one of her apartments. Neither of her proteges resided at this one, as it was one only known to her herself. She liked to come here after Arc serenaded her, to keep her content mood. Cinder removed her heels at the door, hanging them, and moved gracefully into the kitchen. One hand traced a handle of a knife as she contemplated a good old fashioned stabbing.

The problem was, Tukson was a larger man. While she had no doubt she could do it, the fuss it would raise would be untenable for her current mood. No, she needed something of that level of intimacy without the struggle. Opening a particular drawer, she removed her garrote wire. Smiling, she closed the drawer.

Yes. That would do quite nicely.

She opened her refrigerator, removing some food carefully prepared by Emerald, the slightly younger of her two protege. She was a delightful young girl, going on 18 come the fall. With, of course, a healthy cynical edge that was so needed in their line of work. Emerald was better for baiting and stalking than she was for murdering, but given time she could learn. Mercury, the second of them, was every bit the teenage boy he looked.

Yet he did have a knack for violence, even if his temperament could use some counseling. Patience was not something that came easy to the lad, Cinder mused. For this line of work, one must keep their cool, find their balance, and always be professional. He would be, at this moment, collecting her duffle back from that alcove and attending to her gear inside.

She removed the letter from her dress, breaking the seal. She often got another hit while on a current job, so this was of no surprise. What did surprise her was the name on the letter. She checked it twice, turning the letter over, before burning it. Made of a special paper, it flashed out of existence, without even a hint of odor.

The name remained in her mind's eye, her near photographic memory seizing on it immediately. Jaune Arc. The musician. A storm of emotions welled inside of her, conflicting and contradictory. She could not stop her reaction, nor did she particularly want to.

"What the fuck?"

 **AN:** Hey there folks! Again! How ya'll doing?

So, might as well throw my hat into the ring. Those few who already follow me might have been expecting a Venomous Weiss to appear, but don't fret. She will be along soon. This was something I started before, a few months back, and now feel its the time to move forward with it. I hope you enjoy what's to come. Also, big shout outs to Jiu-jitsu Dude's A Monster's Marriage, which is quite the wonderful fic if you want some Knightfall.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** : Another chapter, so soon? Well my friends, that is because I'm about to be gone for a little while, and I wanted to leave you with one more update. This is the last set up chapter before things start kicking into gear, so it's very much on the short side, another reason I wanted to get this out soon. I generally feel that a chapter should be as long or as short as it needs to be, and this does all that it needs to do. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 **CHAPTER 2**

Qrow Branwen wished he could call what he had a hangover. That would imply that he had gotten some sleep the night before. Sleep was not something Qrow could afford, nor something he particularly wanted. His bottle of whiskey, a harsh mix that could strip paint if allowed to, was down to a third. Bloodshot eyes glared at the amount of liquid, as if willing it to swell in volume.

As per usual, the liquid did not respond. Qrow yawned as he pawed open a folder in front of him. Some missing children's report, a despondent Aunt had come to him to find her nephew Otter or something. Sob story about how the police had already written him off and yadda yadda, the lady talked too much. If the kid was dead, his body would turn up one way or another. If he wasn't, he was probably out of the city by now. Out of Qrow's reach at any rate.

He slid the folder aside, revealing the collage on his table below it. Qrow was a detective, a private investigator who took odd jobs and personal vendettas. No personal vendetta was more important to himself than his own, of course, and that was the one file he never closed. His business, the Summer Rose, was named after his late partner. Back then they had been the Summer Crow Detective Agency.

Back then kids like Olyphant or whatever were easy to find. Easy to save. Then Summer tangled with the wrong sorts and had uncovered a vast web of crime connecting every major part of the city. Then, it had scared the piss out of him. Now, he only wished he had helped her the day she had gone missing. He glared, willing his vision to focus, at the photos before him. A striking woman, some would call her beautiful, with full, lengthy black hair. A smile on her face.

Cinder Fall. More than any other woman in his life, more than his sister, his nieces, or any number of women who followed him to his bed; Cinder dominated his mind above all the rest. It was, in a fashion, intolerable. He had no proof of course that this murderer was anything of the sort, but he knew. Summer knew. Summer had the proof. Proof that vanished not long after Summer's mangled corpse surfaced in the sewage treatment plant. The dead, they had a habit of resurfacing.

Qrow had been tailing Cinder for years, never able to find anything on the woman. She had a knack of vanishing when you thought you had her. He suspected she had supporters, unofficial, non suit wearing little helpers that aided her movements across the city. Yet, sinking low into his chair, he had only the truth to admit. Qrow was not half the detective that Summer had been.

He downed the rest of his whiskey, dark thoughts swirling as he glared at the pictures. The one thing Qrow knew was where she went once a week, every week. Pushing away from the table, Qrow struggled to stand upright, settling instead for a slight hunch. His office was a wreck, the air heavy with stale smoke and cheap liquor. He had one chair that actually worked, his own personal office chair wheels having given up the ghost many months ago. He reached for a hanging rack to the side of his desk, retrieving his belt and holster.

Qrow's vision blurred as he pushed his way out the door, not having to bother with the sign on the door. He never changed it from closed to begin with. He had gotten the job about Oliver whatever a few weeks ago and that was the last new case he had taken. The last straw for this old bird. He would take Cinder down one way or another.

Her and her damned organization.

Qrow escaped the stifling heat of his closed off office, wincing as sunlight assaulted his eyes. He knew he had to of been in there awhile this time if light filtered through so much cloud cover could bother him so much. His stomach growled but he ignored it, even more strapped for cash than usual. His money had gone towards a good cause, and that didn't include feeding this ill tempered body.

He growled at some kids that had gotten in his way. The brats were running around with a shitty generic ball that could work for a kick ball, a basketball or a soccer ball if you were poor enough. Everyone on this side of town was poor enough. Funny how that worked, you could never be rich enough. Qrow wheezed some, wondering what had happened to his laughter. A wonder that ended as he instinctively pulled out a cigarette and lit it up.

He didn't know where he was heading just yet, just needing to stretch his legs. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, contemplating when he last had a shower. That's when he saw it. Her. Qrow's cigarette burned away quicker as he took a long drag, a smirk playing on his features.

Cinder Fall was out and about and looking none too pleased about it. Well didn't that beat all. She was wearing some kind of red top, white inner shirt, and black skirt as if she was some office drone. Disgusting. He flicked his half finished cigarette at her, Cinder briskly moving out of the way. She took one look back at Qrow and, to his chagrin, her expression seemed to grow lighter.

She breezed away, regaining a bit of her preternatural aloofness. Qrow's frown deepened as he followed her. She was heading to a coffee shop now, but where had she been going? He thumbed his pistol, seriously contemplating drawing on her and opening fire. It'd be better than she deserved.

The woman sat at a table outside the coffee house, at once expecting him to arrive but not waiting. He worked on her time was the gag, Qrow believed. Any other day, he would have walked away. Today, Qrow was at the end of his rope. Nothing about this meeting could make him hate himself anymore than he already did.

He slid into a chair, his body practically pouring into it. His muscles were very sore from not being used much lately and he knew the arthritis in his knees was settling in. He took in this woman he knew had to be in her thirties, looking no older than twenty five, and ran a hand through his own greying hair. Eventually she deemed him worthy to look upon. Be still his bleeding heart.

"Dear Qrow, we really must stop meeting like this." Cinder leaned across the table, her gloved hand brushing against his. He instinctively pulled his hand back. "Tongues will wag."

"How's life treating you, killed any good people lately?"

Cinder shook her head. "You know, talking to a lady like that won't get you anywhere, detective."

"Who's the lady?"

A strained smile graced Cinder's face, Qrow smiling genuinely for the first time in months.

"Very cute, very mature. I'm sure your wife loves that sense of humor of yours. Oh wait, I forgot. You're alone." She placed a hand over her mouth, acting scandalized. "Oh dear me my. However could I forget the passing of your much vaunted partner. Though as I recall, she wasn't even your wife was she? What a lonely life, Mr. Qrow."

Qrow felt a different kind of heat rise to his face. "Keep talking. For every year since you killed Summer, I promise you. I will rend to pieces each and every plan you and yours has ever had, bring down every single associate you have ever had."

Cinder laughed, a mocking, humorless noise. She leaned back in her chair a touch, Qrow watching for any movement, any sign for him to draw on her.

"Dear detective, you have such an imagination to you. Secret crime organizations, me an assassin of all things? What a lonely man you must be to have such fancies." She retrieved a cigar from somewhere, producing a lighter. Of course she could afford such things, Qrow thought with a bitterness he couldn't deny. "What supposed leads do you have on me this time, mayhaps something at a chemical plant? Some loose lipped thief try to describe a woman vaguely similar to me?"

Qrow snorted. "I've got my own lead this time. When I get to the bottom of it, it's going to lead to you in a cell. Or, preferably, a grave."

"Such viciousness. Haven't we been ever so cordial with you up to now, Mr. Qrow? I even dropped the lawsuit for libel two years prior. I would have thought you'd be thankful." Cinder wasn't looking at him. That was odd. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have much better places to be."

She was distracted by something. Qrow smirked. All his sleepless nights were going to pay off, it seemed. A distracted Cinder was a compromised Cinder, was a dangerous Cinder. A dangerous Cinder was something he could deal with.

"You're looking a bit haggard there, girlie. What's the problem, skills fading? Maybe Salem is considering transferring you to Torchwick's circles? Don't worry, I'm sure you'll fit just fine with the mature crowd, until your stress marks start showing." Bite into her. Cinder was a vain woman. Use that.

It worked. All too well. Cinder glared down at Qrow, his barbs usually so easily ignored now hitting something deep. Something must have really shook her today. She looked like she wanted to rear back and hit him but held off.

"Do you know why, if any of your wild theories of my profession were true, I would continue to let you live, Qrow?" She leaned in close, whispering in his ear. "You are harmless. All you can do is caw in the night and hope someone, anyone, will pay you even the slightest bit of attention. You can try to rattle me all you want, you can peck at my window as hard as you can, but you do not matter to me, Qrow."

She stepped back, keeping her burning gaze firmly locked on his own. "No would would ever spend money to have you killed. Why waste good cash? No, we're all too invested to see what gets you first- your failing liver or your own pistol to your useless skull. Either way, the only one who will kill you, Mr. Qrow, is yourself. If you take the slow route or the short, the destination is the same. I, personally, cannot wait to see which you choose."

Qrow did not respond. Cinder left with an air of vindication, but her face belied her inner troubles. What she said was true to a point, he did not matter to Cinder. He had nothing on her, could prove nothing, could do nothing. But, that would change. Maybe he would kill himself one day. He thought about it more than once in a drunken stupor.

But Qrow Branwen would see Cinder Fall and her entire organization in flames before that ever happened. That was a promise he made to Summer's grave, to her widower, her kids. Most of all, it was a promise he made to himself.

Whatever it took, he would destroy her. No matter the cost.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Mr. Sundown was quite the religious man, Cinder discovered. While her primary target had been the late Neon, she had kept track of Tukson's whereabouts all the while. Every Saturday night he would frequent one of Torchwick's numerous dens of sin, then every Sunday he would drag himself to his particular church. She was mentally immersing herself in Tukson's schedule while making her trip, both to distract herself from the conversation she just had...

And what her next job would be. Her thoughts strayed too far, blue eyes flashing in her mind. Damn Qrow and his incessant meddling. Qrow would be better to focus on. Better to keep her cool. The drunkard was a thug, plain and simple. Rose was the one who did all of the work for their partnership, he just acted as her triggerman. She knew he was in debt to his eyeballs, keeping an eye on his finances on her free time. He had recently taken quite the sizable loan as well.

Whatever he needed to keep dragging his feet to the finish line, she supposed. She had arrived outside of the manor, a sprawling estate where Lady Salem resided. Lady Salem was an older woman who had taken control of the criminal elements of North America years before Cinder had even been born. Rumor had it that her power and reach went beyond the borders of one nation. Cinder held pride that she proved to be a useful weapon in Salem's bid to keep her ironclad hold of those channels.

A group so large that Cinder herself did not know how far it reached, with influence that would border on the divine. Cinder took her place here, took pride in being able to help reign in the rowdy and unusual forces. Killing targets for high paying customers, like Neon Katt, ensured their loyalty to Lady Salem and brought them into her web. Of course, Lady Salem could not be connected directly to any of this. She was simply an old woman of incredible health and posture, with a wealth earned from many years of hard work and shrewd decisions.

Gun men posing as guards stood at the gates, clad in matching black and red suits. They nodded to her as she passed by, the gates swinging open smooth and quiet. Here Cinder would get her answers, but she knew she had to be careful about how to phrase it. One who worked under the Mistress did not speak against her orders openly. Nor did they question her logic. Cinder had learned a long time ago to be diplomatic in such situations.

Though she quickly found any diplomatic feelings drain away in the face of her fellow top assassin and equal in the eyes of Salem, Tyrian. The purple eyed, black haired man grinned back at her from his place in the lobby. A frown came to her features unbidden, her displeasure for having to deal with the slaughterer plain. While Cinder was an assassin, she and Tyrian had very different styles.

Cinder made short work of whatever her current objective was, taking no longer than she absolutely had to. There was no sadism on her part, no feelings attached. Tyrian was another matter. He enjoyed the killing, took some sadistic pleasure and often went to extremes with his targets that would churn weaker stomachs.

She would be assigned to deal with subtle targets, the unassuming. Ones that you could blame on a random slaying, wouldn't get much notice. Tyrian was a weapon of dual purpose. He not only preformed his murders, but he made a show of them. Such that when they were discovered they would be remembered. They would send a message. Only three jobs did Cinder ever serve with Tyrian, and she had done her best to forget each. The fact that he had been doing this for longer than herself, and thus held an edge in Salem's esteem, did not help matters.

"Hello there Cindy. How's tricks? Heard you botched your last job something wonderful!"

"Tyrian. A pleasure to see you as usual."

Tyrian stood, taking an over dramatic bow towards her. "My dear, you flatter me. You almost said that with a straight face." His grin widened. "Such a pretty liar you are. I wonder how you'd sound screaming."

Cinder met him with a flat glare. "It'd cost your life to try, psychopath."

"Says the murderess."

"Better than being a butcher."

He held a hand over his heart, playing up the theatrics once more. "Oh, how you wound me! Whatever happened to that young precious little thing that we took into our ever happy family?" He leaned in close, Cinder catching some of his odorous deodorant. "Tell me, will sweet little Emmy end up like you? Or is it not too late to steal her away and put a smile on her face?"

Golden eyes glared at purple. "Touch one hair on her head and even Salem will not save you, Tyrian."

Twisted smile met grimace. "Dear, that just makes it all the more enticing to try."

Cinder knew his butterfly knife was well in hand the moment he needed it. Her own pistol was ready to be drawn at a moment's notice. Could she draw faster than he could slash? Yes, her glare intensifying, she did believe she could. Not that she would get the chance to find out, a new voice crashing over them.

"If you two children are quite finished, we have a joint meeting with the Mistress that is due haste."

Cinder and Tyrian broke away from each other, Tyrian winking at the younger woman as he went to join the newcomer. Tall as a pole and just as skinny, Watts stood at the entrance of the stairwell, a sneer on his features. He was dressed in his best as per usual, a dark purple suit with Victorian sensibilities. Tyrian had on his usual vest and heavy trench coat, worn and rough like his own personality. Watts was, to Cinder as a child and Cinder as an adult, a bore of a man filled with self-importance about his own meager contributions to something much greater than himself.

He would drone on for hours about market stability and business sense, acting as her personal tutor as he saw fit. His role in the organization was as Salem's left-hand man, her right taken up by a far more reliable sort, an intelligence broker and finance wizard. It was rumored that he held blackmail over every major corporate owner and government official, even the Schnee patriarch. She knew for a fact that his contracts spread into the paramilitary.

He looked back at her, judging her by some private measure all his own. "The Coal boy was not meant to be slain. One of our sponsors was most upset at his premature termination."

Cinder rolled her eyes. "Unavoidable collateral. He walked in on the murder of the target."

"Then you should have taken better care to ensure he would not have."

Cinder looked back at Watts who had turned away from her. "He shouldn't have been there. I don't know why he came back, but he was supposed to be at a recital."

His body language betrayed nothing, but Cinder could detect a slight edge of mirth to his voice. "Ah yes. That would have been a private one for that particular sponsor. As it turns out they had to cancel, prior arrangements with myself." He looked back at her and she could just feel the smugness radiating from him. "Truly just a case of bad luck, I suppose. You're hanging around that Qrow fellow far too much."

He also made a habit of keeping tabs on everyone and everything in the syndicate. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind." She was only happy Tyrian had rushed ahead of them so that he was not privy to the conversation. The last time Qrow had been brought up around the fool, he had babbled about wedding bells.

As if Cinder would lower her standards so far. Cinder shifted her attention to the stairwell instead. The manor was a modest affair, a wood and stone construct from near the start of the country that had been renovated and remodeled over the years. Smokey glass banisters and black carpeting contrasted with white walls quite well, if Cinder was to be honest. As far as most in the city were concerned, it was simply the business headquarters for Salem, which wasn't inaccurate.

"Watts," Cinder knew she had to be careful about this subject. "About my next mission, do you have any idea who commissioned it?"

Watts looked back at her, eyes narrowing. "This would be concerning the Arc musician. No, it was an anonymous hit." He stopped for a moment. "The second hit released with the Arc job, did you take it yet?"

Cinder shook her head. "Never go more than one job ahead, Watts. That's how you make mistakes." She knew that's what he wanted to hear, rather than the truth that they were ordered to withhold it until Sundown was killed.

A thin smile crossed his features. "Good girl."

Anonymous. Why would someone put a hit on such a small person and then bother to hide their identity? Cinder considered Watts, suspicion running rampant through her mind. The rest of their journey up to the meeting was in silence. By the time they arrived, Salem was seated at the head of the table, Hazel to her immediate right and Tyrian to her immediate left. Hazel was the aforementioned right-hand man of the organization, a giant bear of a man with numerous scars covering his body. He carefully considered Cinder and Watts as they took their places, sitting on opposite sides of the table. Cinder always felt so small under his gaze.

Yet she knew she had nothing to fear from him. Above all else, Hazel was the most loyal and dedicated to Salem, having served by her side even longer than Watts. Some of the older staff, the cleaning crews that Salem had employed since her rise to power, claimed he had been by her side from the beginning. A beginning that predated Cinder by decades. Salem's hair at some point had gone snow white, with heavy lines showing her aging proudly. Yet she was no less beautiful now, as distinguished as she had been some twenty years prior when she took Cinder from her wretched home.

Roman and Hei "Junior" Xiong arrived not too long after, each of the major cogs in Salem's machine for this city filing into place. Roman gave Cinder a wink as he took a seat next to Watts, Junior hesitantly sitting between herself and Tyrian. No doubt their personal attendants were waiting outside. Cinder looked to the head of the table. Calm grey eyes that held endless pools of wisdom regarded Cinder warmly. The matriarch of the city raised her hand to get the attention of all those present.

"As has been made aware to me, we have secured total control over the local law enforcement branches. I must thank the continued efforts of Mr. Torchwick, Ms. Fall and Mr. Callows for this great boon to our organization." She allowed a few moments of praise to come back and forth before silencing the table again. "On the reputable side of things, Mr. Xiong has obtained considerable reach outside of Vale through legal channels. More than enough for Mr. Torchwick to spread his web of corruption through. Doubling that with Watts' ever-present information network and there is nothing that happens in this city without my blessing."

Salem stood, each member of her cabal bowing their heads. "The city of Vale is ours. Our reach into the greater country grows by the hour. Take pride in your deeds and drink deep our victory, but do not ever become lax. Losing vigilance is tantamount to losing power itself." Salem's voice grew harsh. "What we have is fragile. Any slip up, any crack, any show of weakness, and this whole operation will burn around us. In the next few days, I will be attending to matters beyond Vale." She turned her attention to Cinder, Roman, Junior and Tyrian. "You four will be charged with keeping things on task. Complete your jobs, keep active, stay on top of things. Our power shall only grow in time, and with it, your rewards."

Rewards that went beyond the monetary. Cinder alone had a stash of untraceable cash, many times over the amount she would ever need in three life times, let alone the time she had. She knew for a fact that Tyrian drew no less of a price, though neither requested a payment. Working for Lady Salem was more than reward enough, but the fact that their ever need and want was accounted for was pleasant. One would have to be a greedy fool to seek more than what Lady Salem allowed, and Cinder was no such fool.

Cinder and Tyrian didn't need to be here for this meeting, but Salem always called them forward regardless. Cinder always appreciated the gesture, understanding that it was purely for her own benefit. Roman began to drone on about his gambling den this and prostitution ring that. He remarked that he had a child of an important senator kidnapped a few weeks back, was keeping the kid in some warehouse or other. Biding his time to figure out the proper time cash that chip in and who to use as a proxy for it. Oscar Pine was his name.

Cinder watched Roman more intently than usual, knowing that if Jaune Arc had crossed anyone in the underworld this would be the man to know. She shifted her attention to the giant of a man named Junior, who seemed to be so much smaller next to her. She realized he was drawing himself in, as if touching either of the assassins next to him would itself be a death sentence. Cinder almost found it flattering. He would be the second person she turned to for information, on the off chance that it was a more reputable sort of life that Arc led.

As the meeting concluded, each member of the cabal rose and filed out of the room. Only Cinder, Hazel and Lady Salem remained, Cinder sitting at her spot still. Salem's gaze turned toward her before her voice rose.

"Hazel, you may leave us."

Hazel nodded. "Yes, Mistress."

Once the man had left, Salem motioned to Cinder. Cinder rose, head bowed.

"How rare a treat this is. A woman so proud, showing such respect."

"Ma'am?"

"Oh, think no ill of it, Cinder. Merely a remark that it is nice to see you still remember how to be humble. Your pride, Cinder, is a powerful talent. A dangerous trait. It defines you better than any other, but you must take care not to let it control you." Salem smiled, some joke only she could hear playing in her head.

Cinder raised her head, uncertain how to approach the subject at hand. Salem stopped her with a look.

"This is, no doubt, about the unusual method of delivery for your latest assassinations. Watts had informed me of them, of course, and let on that he believed that they would be quite the adventure to see. Perhaps he betrayed himself too much?" Salem chuckled, Cinder missing some great joke. She did not have long to ponder before her Mistress continued. "He, however, was not the one to dictate how they were given to you." Salem leaned back, looking out the window. What she saw, Cinder could not. "I was."

Cinder wasn't given enough time to react when Salem stood, taking her aback. She did not stand with any malicious intent, in fact there was no motion to it at all. It was almost as if she just shifted from a sitting position to a standing one. The other thing that drew Cinder's attention was Salem's size. She was a fine woman, of good proportions and strong features barely touched by age. She was also much taller than one would assume, taller even than Hazel or Junior.

Salem seemed to hide her size when she did not want you to be aware of it. A skill she had learned over the years Cinder had to presume. One only took notice of Salem when she wanted them to. Any questions Cinder had died in her throat as her mistress walked past her, her flowing dress staying just an inch above the floor as always.

"I trust your judgement on what to do from this point forward, Cinder. Know that and pursue your next actions carefully. I will be watching."

With that, the door closed, and the most incredible woman Cinder had ever known had left. The room seemed so much smaller without its mistress, more mundane by her absence. Cinder began to second guess herself. Was she really that tall? All she knew was that in that instant, the two had shifted positions of an aging matriarch and a trained, dangerous assassin, back to what they were before. The impossible woman, strong and confident, with all the answers and all the power, standing over the cowering, cringing child.

Cinder wasn't sure how to feel about this. Shaking her head, she put the matter away. Salem gave her blessing to handle her next two jobs however she chose. She deigned to impart the wisdom that these would not be normal jobs, something that amused Watts, something that Cinder had sought to confirm.

Now to see what Roman had to say about the musician, Jaune Arc.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

"Who?"

This was not the reaction Cinder expected.

Roman Torchwick and his killer for hire, Neo, stood in the great halls discussing amongst themselves about seedy matters Cinder would rather not know about. Though, more accurately, Roman was talking and Neo was enthusiastically nodding or shaking her head no. The diminutive woman was mute, had been as long as Cinder had been aware of her. She was dangerous, a true bred psychopath, but Roman seemed to hold sway over the murderess.

It was easy to ignore Neo, because of her size as much as her disability. She was barely taller than 4'11 in heels, legally classifying as a midget. Or did they prefer a different term now? Cinder only knew that the last time some one tried to insinuate something about her size, as Neo was truly a fully-grown woman in everything but height, they had not lived past the hour. Cinder had no doubt she would best the fanatic, but she could still recognize her as a threat all the same.

Neo smiled at Cinder, a cruel light gleaming in her eyes. Today she was wearing one brown contact and one pink, though Cinder had personally born witness to many disguises and identities she had worn.

"You're telling me you have no idea who Jaune Arc is?" Cinder felt an impatience rise.

"I've heard of the Arcs, they're a family from out of Vale. Nothing dirty though, just old blood. He could be related to them I suppose, but what would your," Roman stopped, tapping his cane to his head. "Stupid question, there's only one type of person to draw your interest. Mum's the word and all that."

"Do not let word spread, Roman. Or else it will not be I that you answer to."

"Don't worry, you will start showing your age, dear." Roman ignored her glare as he bowed to her. "I have never heard the name Jaune Arc before this moment, and after this moment I will claim to have never heard it until it appears in the Sunday paper. Now let's get along, Neo, I can smell that oaf Junior approaching from here. I believe we have a meeting with Adam in ten."

Neo did a small curtsey before joining her taller partner in crime. Adam was a gang leader, at odds with a local business tycoon who had his eyes on a governor position, Jacques Schnee. Cinder was reasonably certain that the Schnee patriarch was the one to pay for Neon's untimely demise. If she cared to speculate, he most likely came onto her after one of her athletic performances, and regardless of how that turned out, that would leave her a variable that had to be removed.

Adam himself was no better, a thug through and through. His crew of thugs were one of the many that Roman used to spread strife as it was needed to be. They proclaimed a higher purpose, a higher calling to the betterment of humanity. Adam showed their true colors though, a maniac obsessed with what meager power he could get and an appreciation for taking what others had.

Another small-minded man in a world choking with them. Soon they would be rid of him and his ilk. In the world Salem would make, there would be no time for demagogues like Adam. She had no illusions that people like herself would always be needed however. People not squeamish about doing what was needed, removing the chaff or obstacles in the path of a better future. She knew what separated herself from the likes of Adam- she worked with the system, she was part of the machine that would elevate humanity to a whole new society.

If it was only money or infamy that she had sought, she would have left a long time ago. The kind of people she saw rising from this were the intellectuals, the worthy and talented. In her dreams, Jaune Arc would become better than any star musician. The pop stars were fleeting, and their world was so filled with corruption. Arc would gain renown for his talent alone.

Only to give it all up to whisk her away and live on their little isolated plot of land. There he would play for her and her alone, and they could live in bliss. This was but a dream, one she knew could not come to pass. For Jaune Arc's name was on her list. That was reality. His death warrant had been signed, he would not live to see what Salem made of this world.

She refocused on where she was, her dream fading as all dreams should.

"Is something the matter, ma'am?"

Cinder turned, facing the large Junior and his twin body guards, the Malachites. Cinder didn't truthfully care what their proper names were, writing them off as the Twins after meeting them for the first time. The one in white had anger issues and a drinking problem to put most alcoholics to shame. The one in red was flighty, sensitive, a dreamer. A true dreamer. One who did not consider reality in her fantasies. Red wore her hair long, White wore her dark hair short, but they were otherwise identical.

"No." Cinder stopped, hesitating. It wouldn't hurt. "What do you know about a musician named Jaune Arc?"

Junior looked to his girls who shrugged simultaneously. "Nothing off the top of my head, but I'll look into it. I should have something back at the office if he's legally employed in Vale."

Cinder nodded. "I would appreciate whatever you can get me. Roman was of no help at all."

Junior bowed. "Of course. Anything to help Lady Salem."

"Like, what do you want with a music man, Ms. Fall?"

Cinder looked, seeing it was Red who spoke.

"Maybe she wants to finally get laid."

White probably believed that was quiet enough not to be heard. She was also very mistaken.

"My business with whatever individual I seek is my own." She smiled as sweetly as she was able. "Do try and keep from joining that list, girls."

Cinder stormed past, ignoring their reactions whatever they may be. Junior would come through. Now, it was time to reunite a religious man with his God.

* * *

Qrow watched the nightclub he knew Cinder frequented from time to time. Her actions were hard to follow, she seemed to have a method of just vanishing from street to street. Yet he knew he had seen her here more than once. That wasn't chance. He eyed the two body guards out front, thugs not unlike himself. Muscle for the brains.

They wouldn't let him in. He doubted the club had any association with Cinder and her myriad of cohorts, at least on any tenable level. Yet he also knew that she would demand a certain level of respect and expectation through presence alone. Such things meant that sewer rats like him weren't allowed to start poking around.

The blonde musician was leaving from the side entrance. He wasn't on his usual schedule so what was he doing? Qrow stalked forward, weaving through the back lots. He couldn't get anything on the kid, nothing that could tie him to Cinder or any of her known associates. Of which, he had to admit, there were depressingly few to connect her to. His name was Jaune Arc, Qrow knew that for a fact. He worked here at least once a week, he knew that for certain. What kind of person was he?

Didn't matter.

His left hand started shaking. He wanted to just draw on the kid now, take him and force a situation with the woman. Not yet. Jaune ended up ahead of him in a damp alley, bricks slick with rainwater. It almost smelled nice. He brushed up against the kid, who turned, eyes wide. Kid, the man was in his late 20s and Qrow knew it. Yet to Qrow, he still looked like a dumb, naive kid.

"Does the name Cinder Fall mean anything to you?"

He let the question hang heavy. What he got wasn't what he had hoped for. Honest, open, genuine confusion.

"I don't think so? Look, I'm in a hurry. I've got another gig to get to."

Qrow stopped a moment. "You work two places?"

Jaune nodded. "Bills have to be paid and all." He laughed, to Qrow it sounded almost sad. "Have to help support the family, you know how it goes."

Qrow had family, in a fashion. One biological niece, one niece that might as well have been. When was the last time he talked with them?

The funeral.

"Yeah. I guess I do. Well if any broads with black hair and gold eyes come up to you, you give me a holler you hear?"

He gave Jaune his card. About the only bill he had paid recently was his cellphone.

"Are you talking about the patron that comes once every week?"

Qrow paused a moment. "You recognize her?"

Jaune laughed, a bit nervous. "Some one that pretty, coming in that regularly? Yeah, I'd recognize her. I've thought about asking for her name a thousand times, but it's never come up."

Qrow shook his head. "You'll find that some pretty things aren't worth pursuing, kid. Sometimes, instead of a nice little flower, you'll find some nightshade."

Jaune frowned. "If I lived like that, I'd have to be suspicious of every single person I met. I don't know about you, but I couldn't live like that. A stranger is just a friend you haven't met yet, after all."

"Who told you that shit? Your mom?"

Jaune glared, his pace quickening.

Qrow reached out to him, stopping at the last moment.

"I'm just saying, Cinder is a unique kind of woman. She's does what she does for herself and nobody else. She's a hell of a woman."

Of course, Qrow meant that more literally than it was often said.

Jaune pocketed the card, looking to the sky.

"I'll keep it in mind. Doubt it'll ever come up though, Mr. Qrow."

Qrow sighed, all the air in his body releasing it felt like. He couldn't keep watching as the kid disappeared in the drizzle, an ache in his ribs drawing his attention.

"I hope so, kid. I hope so."

Qrow worked his way back to the entrance that Jaune had left. Testing the door, he found it locked. Cinder had been coming more often than he knew.

That meant she had a target. Had to. What drew the pieces together, what was the answer here. Why would she keep coming? Qrow shattered the lock, not having the patience to work it open. Summer had considered that Cinder was most likely responsible for the original owner of the establishment, some woman named Amber. Why would she keep coming back? He needed Summer for this.

She was the smart one. She was the one who could think outside the literal and obvious. She could dance around a problem, find the shape of it, and properly dissect it. Not like him. Nothing like him. He smashed through his problems, didn't consider the fall out. What was the most direct course? This.

He stalked into the backroom of the club, something in his gut drawing him to the owner of the establishment. If there was one thing that he could rely on, it was his gut. He hadn't spent maybe fifteen minutes on his detour to talk with Arc, yet something changed. The air was different, with a hint of blood that made his skin crawl.

Tukson, a man his height but twice as wide, rushed past him in a panic.

"What is going on!"

Panicked pleas and screaming were all the answer he received.

Qrow ignored the fool, pushing forward. He'd find his way, sure enough. The walls were pristine, yet something seemed off as he approached the main office. Opening the door, he found out why.

The two guards, that had been standing outside just twenty minutes prior, were strung up. The giant had his legs slashed to the bone, tendons severed. He was placed on old style meat hooks, driven into the wall, three in total. One that went into his back, and one for either shoulder. Qrow worried that he might have still been alive, but if he was, he made no sign of it.

The other one had his arms nearly severed, his red hair now matching his equally red blood as it flowed freely. He had been shot up, but not by a gun. At least not a normal gun, Qrow realized, inspecting him. As he approached the red head's body, he used his gun to move some of the wounds. Nails had been driven into his head and chest.

He was displayed on the chair, with one of his limp arms forced forward toward the door. Qrow looked back, seeing that if you had opened the door normally, you would have had him pointing directly at you. If you were as tall as he was, which Tukson was, it'd be point blank between the eyes.

Qrow knew this style of slaying. It wasn't the work of Cinder. Cinder worked quiet, subtle. This was loud, obnoxious. This was the work of the Scorpion Slayer.

What Qrow couldn't figure, what was the connection. Why would he be stepping into Cinder's territory like this?

Qrow checked their bodies, finding nothing on either of them. Could the two be working in unison? Or competing for some unknown purpose?

Qrow scowled. This was going to get a lot uglier, a lot faster. He had to track down Tukson, fast. Leave the police calls to the service staff, they wouldn't find anything anyways. The police in this city never did.

After all his sister, Chief of Police Raven Branwen, ensured they didn't.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

Mr. Sundown was Catholic it seemed, a dying faith by any measure of religion. Faith in general, it seemed, was dying in today's world. Fitting for a dead man to worship at an alter of a failed cult that refused to acknowledge that people did not need them anymore. Only people like Tukson, weak willed and lacking in spiritual assurance that what they did was right. Cinder had to smile, just a bit, at his predicament.

Instead of rushing to the police, which would have only delayed things further, but only so far, he came somewhere secluded and relatively empty. Open. Perhaps he believed that any blasphemy committed in the church would be met by Divine Retribution? Cinder couldn't speculate. She was curious though, watching him cower in the pews, having forced his way into the church in the dead of night. What did he hope to accomplish here?

"Lord, I know that I more than any other deserve this fate. I brought this down on myself due to my own selfish, arrogant pride. Please Lord, spare the rest of the Mockingbird staff and please see to the salvation of Yats and Fox. They did not deserve the cruel and horrific murder that I am at least in part responsible for. Dear Sainted Mary,"

And on he went, whispering prayers for damn near everyone and anyone he could have slighted or wronged. A guilty man trying to assuage his own soul of burden before the end. Cinder was fascinated by this concept, wondering how Tukson could think any person could alleviate all he had done wrong. Even if they were an all-powerful deity, your sins were your own.

"Please find it in you to forgive the young woman who is here now. Though she is here to take my life, I hold no grievance with her for it is not her will that this be done. She is, as many in this age, lost and has turned to violence as an outlet. Please judge her fairly, when she comes to you, as I pray you can find it in yourself to do for me."

Cinder knew he could not see her.

"Praying even for the one to kill you. Funny, you never were that altruistic before, Mr. Sundown."

He did not rise from his knees, clasping his hands tighter. "I know who you are. I know why you do what you do. Though your hands will be what ends this man's life, you are not the one to kill me."

"I suppose." Cinder moved from place to place. Tukson did not raise his head.

"They did not need to die."

"The bodyguards?"

"Did you kill them?"

"Who I kill, given present circumstances, is not something I can freely discuss. You understand."

"Then it was another that slayed them?"

"Perhaps."

"This world is so much more wicked than I had deluded myself into believing." Tukson began to quake, with tears or terror Cinder could not judge.

"Easy trick for you to judge it now, on your knees. Awaiting death."

"Yes. Yes, I am a coward. One who seeks forgiveness, not for his own failings, but for the people that they have hurt."

"You believe in redemption."

"All humans are born with redemption, Ms. It is their choice to reach out and grab it."

Cinder chuckled to herself.

"You believe you can redeem me? Or make me seek some sort of forgiveness?"

Tukson shook his head. "No more than I could make you reconsider killing me or any other from here on out. Your will, your choices, your freedom is like a force of nature. No one can tell it what to do or how to act. All I can do is ask you to consider a power higher than yourself. To consider what He would think of you, how He would judge you and your life."

Cinder's quiet chuckle became full blown laughter. She knew she really shouldn't laugh at the poor man, but he truly had no idea what he was talking about.

"A higher power, Mr. Tukson? Oh, believe me. I sincerely believe in a higher power. Only unlike your God, She is changing the world for the better. Her mysterious ways are a magnitude more effective than anything He has mustered since the flood. She offers no judgement, only acceptance. Her church is a church of service, not worship." Cinder couldn't help herself, knowing this was a unique situation in and of itself. "She gave me something, recently, Tukson. Not anything as pointless as forgiveness or redemption, but instead She gave me freedom. True freedom. The thing that your God wished to deny us so violently, She has graciously granted."

"She is a false God, nothing more. A tower of ego that will crumble on itself as sure as anything."

Cinder felt heat rise in her chest. This mongrel would dare speak of Lady Salem in such a manner? But then, of course he would. Closing her eyes, Cinder took a moment to collect herself. Tukson never met her. Never was graced by her presence. By who and what she was. All he knew was what little she had imparted. Ignorance, the cruelest of all afflictions.

"Were you close to Father Fitzgerald?"

Tukson was silent, his knuckles whitening.

Father Fitzgerald was a priest at this church, back when it served as a pillar of the community. Until Lady Salem had decided to sever its support and stymie its influence. Faith must be found in actions, in demonstration, not in worship. He was a pleasant man, stringent in his belief, not at all the corrupt pedophile that the common cliché would have you assume. In fact, his death had been ordered for that very reason.

He was too good of a man, too convincing and too popular. He had no follies, no slights, no dark secrets to bring him down low. So, instead, he was murdered, and suspicion cast on him in death. Made to appear that he had been killed by a former victim, now fled. A small thing, but enough to get the whispers started. The murmurs and biting criticism. One small implication, and a man who had truly led a pure and just life now was vilified in his eternal rest.

It was one of Cinder's prouder moments.

"That is the power of my God, Tukson. Even as She acts to salvage this world from the horror it has been left to, She can also damn any man She so chooses. What a wonderful thing, faith. Though perhaps it helps to have faith in the right power, no?"

"You have no faith in your God." Tukson's words were quiet, holding back anger and sorrow in equal tides.

Cinder's eyes narrowed. "How so?"

"You do not act for her, but for yourself. Even your boasting of her accomplishments, it all comes back to you. Name one thing, one great or terrible thing, she has accomplished- that you did not aid her with."

Cinder tried to retort immediately, only for dozens of faces and names she had been handed to flash over her. To weigh down on her. Many she did not remember entirely, did not care to recall. She reached deeper, for any and all of the effects to the city that she knew Lady Salem was responsible for. Only again, for each and all to link back to her. Her work. Her actions.

"See, girl, you worship only yourself. Your pride, your deeds. Pride in doing the work of others, in helping others rise to glory that you know only you could have allowed."

Cinder glowered at the man, who in this revelation seemed to take some joy in his final moments. She was allowed her pride. It was hers, uniquely hers. She was here because she was exactly as good as she knew herself to be. If she wasn't, she wouldn't have risen beyond the cowering child that had been brought before Lady Salem all those years ago.

Pride was no sin. Not to Cinder Fall. Pride was everything.

"Raise your head, true believer. Cast one last baleful glance at this sinful world that has dragged you down so far."

"You're avoiding me."

"No. You are irrelevant. Your morality is irrelevant. So, I step past you. Towards a brighter future, without ignorant fools like you."

Tukson did pick his head up, refusing to open his eyes. If he had, he still wouldn't have seen Cinder Fall. She stalked around him, from shadow to shadow, watching him.

"Then die blind, as you lived."

Tukson did not see the razor-sharp wire that pressed around his throat, he did not need to. Its cold embrace was swiftly followed by a gentle pressure. From what Cinder was aware, a proper garroting was relatively painless. If nothing else, she did her job properly.

She propped him up against the statue, throat and chest a bright red that was quickly dulling. Considering what she knew, what she had uncovered and weighing what her mistress had said, Cinder left the failing church. He would be discovered, tonight or tomorrow it did not matter. What mattered was that this job was done.

Meaning the next on her list was ready.

Exiting out the back of the church, killing a passing priest who had managed to glimpse her on her way out with a quick, violent but painless snapped neck, she took stock of herself.

Jaune Arc.

The musician.

Her dream.

Decisions had to be made, tempered with the reality of the situation. For that, she knew she had to reach out to Junior. She sent him a message, to have any and all information on Jaune Arc ready and in her hands in less than one week.

One more week. One more performance.

She could give Jaune Arc that much.

* * *

It did not take Qrow long to discover Tukson's fate. He almost seemed content, in the end. A far cry from the terrified wreck he saw last. Maybe there was something to this faith bullshit after all? Not for a man like him, but for others probably. Whatever got you through the day.

It was early morning. He had been called here by a police detective, Winter. Very different from himself, more official, more paperwork. He had been a police detective once, back when he worked in tandem with Raven. Then the two had their falling out, he joined up with Summer and the rest was the happy tapestry that made up his miserable life.

"You're late, Qrow."

"And you're not wearing any makeup, Winter. Can't expect me to harass you for a date if you don't doll up first."

If looks could kill, well, Qrow would be dead several times over long before now. Probably the first time he mouthed off to his dad, in fact. Not that he didn't come damn close to it shortly after.

Winter crossed her arms, scowling. "We've heard that you were present at the slayings of the Mockingbird."

"Wonder who could have let that slip." Qrow dug around for a flask. He hadn't slept at all since last night, he hadn't eaten since the day before. No time for it, no money either.

"Believe it or not, the security cameras." Winter tapped her foot at him.

Qrow was surprised about that. Typically, the cameras were the first thing to get wiped. It was the whole reason why they didn't even know who the Scorpion Slayer was in the first place. Why there was next to no evidence on Ms. Fall and her murders.

"Did you, I mean, the footage...what did it show?" Hope was a dangerous thing to let grow. It often…

"Sadly nothing. There's a solid fifteen minutes missing between the time the murders apparently happened, and the time it took for you to get there."

Only led to disappointment.

"Even still," she continued, "You should have called it in. We could have assigned a protection detail to Tukson, prevented this from happening."

Qrow snorted. "Maybe for a few days. We both know that the moment he got out of sight, this would have happened all the same. What's Rae going to spin this as, gang violence? Loan sharks?"

Winter looked away. "It has come to our attention that the former Mr. Sundown was under quite a bit of debt, yes. I don't understand why you think so ill of your sister, Qrow. She may not be as evergreen as Captain Ironwood had been, but she's doing good. Routing gangs and staying on top of the crime rate."

Qrow could not stop the barking laughter that followed, nor did he want to. "Of that I have no doubt. My sister will do exactly the job that she has been given, to the letter."

Winter glared. "More of your conspiracy theories, Qrow? They're very unbecoming of a man of your stature."

"What stature, sweetheart? I have it on good authority that most people are just waiting to see how I end up kicking the bucket these days. You know what, I can't blame them. I'm getting mighty curious myself!"

He did not stay to see her reply, or her hurt expression. He did not see her start to reach out to him, only to stop short. If he had, what would come may have gone differently.

May have.

There were things at play, a scenario at work far greater than anything he could imagine. He had to clear his head soon, before the damn thing got caved in. He had a feeling things would go quiet for a time, but he had none of Tukson's faith that it would be a peaceful silence. Merely, as the saying went, the quiet before the storm.

The Arc kid better call him soon, or else he may have to force the situation to advance himself.


End file.
